


Break Reality

by breakdancingsigma (hetawholockvengerstuck)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Eating Disorders, Eventual relationships as subplots, Human AU, Mental Hospital AU, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Pregnancy, Really minor character death, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetawholockvengerstuck/pseuds/breakdancingsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vash's severe separation anxiety and paranoia make him a threat to anyone who comes near; Ivan's mental health has caused his entire family to fall apart; Arthur's friends think he's insane; Yao is on the verge of death. A new doctor has brought it upon himself to cure all of these patients, but in this hospital, everyone has a secret...</p><p>Human AU, multiple pairings and characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So It Begins

He sat on his cot, legs pulled up to his chin. He didn’t want to be here, but he had no choice.

He _could_ see them. The fairies and trolls and other magical creatures that more ignorant humans could never see. He wasn’t crazy, he was special.

He had tried to tell his friends. He had explained to his doctor. No one believed him.

His “friends” had arranged this. _It’s for your own good, Arthur. You’ll thank us someday. If you were to hurt yourself, we wouldn’t be able to live with it._ Yet they had locked him up, against his will, in this loony bin.

His _real_ friends, the ones nobody else believed in, would never have done this. But he hardly saw them anymore. They said the place was hard to enter, that it drove them away.

At first, the traitorous people who had put him here had visited, but he never talked to them. He had nothing to say to non-believers. So after a while, they stopped coming. He knew they still came, but only to ask the doctors about his condition.

He _wasn’t_ crazy. He _did not_ have silly hallucinations.

He laughed inwardly, thinking of the hundreds who must claim that every year. He wondered how many were like him, perfectly sane, just misunderstood.

He had no cellmate. His psychiatrist had fretted about Arthur “contaminating’ the other patients. It gave Arthur no satisfaction; a roommate might alleviate the monotony. Nothing ever happened. He met with his psychiatrist every day, but refused to speak. What was the point in defending himself against a man who was trying to cure him of a nonexistent illness?

His door opened. It was a glass door, fixed within a glass wall. It was bulletproof, supposedly for his safety, but he knew it was to make sure he didn’t get out. He felt like he was on display: three pale yellow walls and a thick pane of glass separating him from the nurses and personnel who wandered the halls freely.

A young nurse in yellow entered, carrying a clipboard.

“Mr. Kirkland, the doctor will see you now.”

Arthur sighed. He stood up and followed the nurse down the corridors, until they reached a wood-paneled door. The nurse knocked, and opened the door for Arthur. When he entered, she closed the door behind him.

The man seated behind the mahogany desk was not Arthur’s usual psychiatrist. The photos on the wall were not the same drab college snapshots that Arthur had grown bored of looking at. The plaque on the desk no longer held the same name. Instead, the walls were lined with photos of the man behind the desk and two little children, or a woman about his age. And the plaque read “Dr. Henry Daniels”.

The man looked to be in his late thirties, with brown hair and glasses. He had a kind smile, but Arthur had seen kind smiles on people who thought he was loony. He wasn’t going to trust this man yet.

“Arthur Kirkland.” The man behind the desk gestured to the chair opposite him, indicating that Arthur should sit. This was new; usually, Arthur was told to lie on the couch that was currently in the corner of the room next to a potted palm.

Arthur moved to the chair and sat carefully, eyeing the new doctor. “Where is Dr. Fisher?” he said.

The man said, “Dr. Fisher began his retirement today. I’ve taken his place, and I must say, I’m very excited to work with you, Mr. Kirkland. I’ve heard so much about you from Dr. Fisher, though most of it was about your condition, and none of it was very convincing.” He held out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Henry Daniels. You can call me Henry, or Mr. Daniels, if you wish, or you can just call me Dr. Daniels.

Arthur hesitated, then shook the psychiatrist's hand.

“Now, then.” Dr. Daniels picked up a file and flipped through the enclosed pages. “According to Dr. Fisher, you suffer from hallucinations and a firm belief in fairies, which he has down as psychosis. I personally see nothing wrong with believing in fairies—no one can decide what others believe in—but these hallucinations…what exactly do you see?”

Arthur said, “They aren’t hallucinations! There really are fairies, and elves, and unicorns! You just can’t see them because you’re 'impure', but they exist!"

Dr. Daniels held up a hand. “Now, I never said they didn’t.” He picked up a piece of paper. “According to this, you were checked in by some friends? Yet you refused their company. And you have been uncooperative with your previous psychiatrist…though I’m not sure what he was trying to accomplish, if his notes are anything to judge by. He seems very critical of you. In fact, can I be honest with you?” Dr. Daniels put the paper down. “Dr. Fisher said he found you stubborn, childlike, and a public hazard. And, being equally honest and blunt, I disagree. For now. My opinion has yet to be formed.”

Arthur snorted. “No one ever believes me. There is nothing to cure!”

“Yet you got in a fistfight with a man at a bar when he said fairies were the product of a moron’s imagination.” Seeing Arthur’s look of surprise, Dr. Daniels held up another piece of paper. “No one can get checked in here unless they have done something to harm themselves or someone else. And we have the reason on file. This applies to everyone.” The doctor chuckled. “How you got on the topic of fairies with a man at a bar, I can’t even guess.”

“This place is bloody insane, not me. No afternoon tea, no breaks from my cell, no contact with the outside world…”

“Ah, that’s Dr. Fisher’s fault, I’m afraid,” the doctor said. “He has to give clearance for a patient to wander outside, and he apparently didn’t see fit to give anyone clearance on any extra privileges. But I see no harm in clearing you for afternoon tea. The other privileges will have to wait, though. I need to assess you mental stability some more before I can clear you. I’m truly sorry about that.” He made some notes on a very official-looking sheet. “Now, tell me about these fairies. How long have you been seeing them?”

Arthur sighed. “As long as I can remember.”

“I see. You must have had a hyper imagination as a child.”

“I beg to differ! I am a completely rational individual.”

“An active imagination is not a sign of irrationality. Could you describe any of these fairies for me? In as much detail as possible, please.”

And the questions went on like this for an hour. Dr. Daniels never scolded Arthur for obstinacy, or looked at him as if he were contagious; nor did he ever say anything that explicitly implied that he thought Arthur was lying. In fact, despite himself, Arthur was beginning to like this new psychiatrist.

By the end of the hour, Dr. Daniels was no longer calling Arthur “Mr. Kirkland”. When the nurse came back to escort Arthur back to his cell, the doctor handed her a piece of paper. “I’ve cleared Arthur for afternoon tea. Please make sure it gets filed and added to his portfolio.”

The nurse nodded, and Arthur went back to his cell feeling a little better than he had before.

Of course, the minute he was back in what the nurses called a room, the feeling was gone. So what if he had tea? He was still in a mental hospital.

Actually, it wasn’t only a mental hospital. This was only a wing of an extensive building that housed patients suffering from mental, physical, and emotional disorders and diseases, and it was well-equipped for even the rarest of cases. But being in the mental wing of the hospital made Arthur feel inferior; the few times he interacted with the patients of other wards, he'd had to deal with stares and whispers.

He kicked the glass wall. It didn’t shatter, of course; bulletproof glass tends to stay together. No matter how hard he kicked it, he could never escape this hell.

Alarms started blaring. Arthur smirked. One of the crazier patients was running rampant, apparently. 

_At least I'm not that poor bloke._

* * *

 Vash’s hands were bloody from pounding on the glass of his room. He ignored the pain, until finally he couldn’t stand it. That was when he started using his shoulders to ram the wall. They weren’t going to keep him here a single day longer.

He heard the alarms, and they only made him increase the tempo of impact. He cursed when he saw the nurses running down the hall, some to fetch the security guards, some to try to calm him down.

One of the women was foolish enough to enter the room. She quickly locked the door behind her. She was his regular nurse, a blonde who was annoyingly optimistic. Vash hated everything about her.

“Vash, this is ridiculous, stop this! If you stop, I’ll ask the doctor to—“

She was cut off by Vash, who grabbed her by the throat and flung her against the glass wall. She crumpled to the floor, an expression of shock frozen on her face. Vash didn’t notice; he had resumed his escape attempt, pounding harder and harder.

When finally the security guards arrived, he was yelling at no one in particular, yet everyone: “Let me out! You can’t do this to me! Let me out, dammit!” Blood was smeared on the glass. Scared nurses were cowering far away from Vash’s room, too terrified to even speak. Some of them had even fainted. Across the hall, patients were pressed against their own glass walls, watching in horror, amusement, or mere interest.

The guards burst into the room and grabbed Vash from behind. He struggled against them, trying with all his might to kick the glass. When that didn’t work, he tried clawing at their faces and punching, kicking, biting—anything that would make them let go and inflict pain.

Eventually, the guards had to resort to tranquilizing Vash. As he went under, he saw the concerned looks of the nurses as they entered to pick up their injured colleague.

 _Serves her right,_ Vash thought. _Stupid girl, thinking she can stop me with cheap language and baby talk._

Then his vision blurred.

* * *

When Vash came to, he found his limbs strapped to a hospital bed. He was slightly propped up on a pillow. He glanced at his hands and found they were wrapped in bandages. An uncomfortable stiffness in his right shoulder caused him to turn his head and examine the gauze that covered that shoulder and went around his neck. 

A different nurse entered the hospital room where Vash was being held, carrying a clipboard (weren’t they always?) and smiling sadly.

“Hello, Mr. Zwingli. Do you mind if I check your hands? It seems they need a new set of bandages.”

She knelt down beside his bed and carefully began unwrapping his hands. She had dark, caramel-brown hair that reached to her jaw, and she wore the standard pale yellow of the hospital.

With his hands unwrapped, Vash realized just how much damage had been done: his hands were cracked wherever there wasn't an ugly bruise. The nurse put a few drops of ointment on each hand, then changed the bandages. When she was done, she patted him on the head. Vash growled.

“Don’t baby me. That damn nurse I injured tried to, and I knocked her out.”

The nurse looked shocked. “Vash, didn’t you know?”

Vash glared at her. “Know what? Did she win a prize or something?”

The nurse shook her head. “Vash, you didn’t knock her out. She died from severe brain damage after the impact.”

And just like that, all feeling drained out of him. Vash could feel his lungs gasping for air as he began to hyperventilate. His eyes widened.

Killed? That couldn’t be right. Vash hadn’t meant to kill her. She had simply annoyed him; he had meant to knock her out, or at the very least get her off his case. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, of course, but he would never _kill_ anyone.

Was this new nurse telling the truth? He couldn’t be a killer. He _wasn’t a killer._

Unwanted tears began to spill, not for the nurse, but for someone else, someone dear to him: his sister, Lili.

What would Lili think? How could he explain that he had killed a nurse?

“Vash? Oh, no, doctor!” The new nurse was shouting. “Doctor, it’s his heart! Vash? Vash, can you hear me?”

* * *

“How is Mr. Zwingli?”

“His condition has stabilized, Dr. Daniels. It seems he had a heart problem we didn’t know about. His sister assured me that his previous physician told her it isn’t a problem, as long as he has his portable defibrillator. She dropped it by today.”

“And no one else was hurt during his rampage?”

“No one other than the nurse.”

“Thank you, Miss Osmond.”

“Please, just call me Dorothea. Everyone does.”

“Okay, then, Miss Dorothea. Keep an eye on Vash, will you? I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet.”

“Yes, Dr. Daniels.” The nurse with the light brown hair and kind smile gave a small bow and left the room. Dr. Daniels flipped a file open and consulted it.

“Vash Zwingli. Separation Anxiety and paranoia. Possible schizophrenia, hints of something more severe. Extremely protective of his sister, Lili Zwingli. And now we have this heart problem. My, my, you are a hassle, aren’t you?”


	2. Roommates

On Saturday, patients were allowed to see visitors without the glass separating them. It was Vash’s favorite day of the week—usually. But now, because of the death of the nurse, Vash was apprehensive. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: Lili being scared or Lili being angry.

Then Dr. Daniels called him to his office.

Vash knew that visiting hours were from 10:00 am to 12:00pm, and the clock in the psychiatrist’s office read 10:45. Lili always came around 10:50, and left at 11:45. But Dr. Daniels was in no hurry.

“Vash! Sit down, please.” Vash did so. “It is nice to finally meet you in person. Dr. Fisher had a lot to say about you.”

“I’m sure he did,” Vash said.

“However,” Dr. Daniels said, “it seems Dr. Fisher overlooked a certain aspect of your…condition. What with the recent events, I think it is safe to say that, on top of Separation Anxiety and paranoia, you have Adjustment Disorder.”

Another one? Vash leaned back and closed his eyes, frowning. How many obstacles would he have to overcome to get out of this hellhole?

He glanced at the clock. 10:49.

“Now, Vash, I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill that nurse. But the fact is, you did. And it is going to take a lot of work to keep you out of jail. You were, after all, fully aware of what you were doing, and you intended to harm her. Should it come to the point where you are tried in a court of law—“

“You want me to plead insanity?” Vash leaned forward angrily. “You think I’m insane! You know what’s insane? Locking a man up for being a little overprotective, and leaving his young sister to fend for herself by doing people’s laundry!”

“Vash, think about it. What if someone dear to you got hurt? What if Lili got in your way while you were on a rampage? You might not realize you were attacking her until it was too late. I know you don’t care about yourself in this case; I know you have a kind heart. But the problem is, you aren’t showing it. And you’re a public menace. The police raided your house. Did you know? They found quite the arsenal.”

“Those were for defense! They had no right to—“

“When a man shoots at a small child because he thinks the kid is a rapist entering the yard at night, the police have every right to check the house for weapons. Why would you need a semi-automatic rifle?”

“You never know,” Vash said. “If the kid _had_ been a rapist, I would have been a hero. I’m just trying to protect my sister.”

Dr. Daniels looked at Vash sternly. “Then get better, Vash. Work with me. We need to get your name cleared of this stuff. That nurse knew the risks of entering a room under those circumstances; regular civilians may not.”

The psychiatrist waved his hand. “You may go now. I know you’re anxious to see your sister.”

Vash glared at the clock. It now read 11:30.

“Shit!” He bolted out the door.

* * *

“You’re late, big brother.” Lili smiled sweetly at Vash, with a hint of concern in her eyes. Vash found himself unable to return her gaze.

“Hey, Lili. Sorry, I had to talk to the new doctor.” He shifted his bandaged arm a little. His hands were still wrapped in linen, but not as tightly; the bleeding had finally stopped, and his shoulder was almost healed.

“The nurses told me you had a rough time. Is everything okay, Big Brother?”

“Yeah…no…I’m fine, but…did they tell you about the nurse?”

Lili looked puzzled. “What nurse?”

“Well…” Vash told his sister the story, but the whole time he looked only at his hands. When he finally glanced up, his worst fears were confirmed: Lili was looking at him with a mixture of horror, terror, and sadness.

“Big brother…? Did you really…?” She stood up abruptly, then hesitated. She looked embarrassed.

Vash nodded. “It’s okay, Lili. You can leave if you want. I understand.”

Lili still hesitated, torn between loyalty to her brother and the horrible feeling welling up inside her.

The feeling won out; she bolted from the room, provoking questioning stares from other visitors. Vash thought he saw tears in her eyes.

He buried his head in his hands. What the hell had he done?

* * *

Ivan Braginski wasn’t bothered with the fact that he was locked up—to a degree. As long as it kept his crazy sister away from him, he was fine.

Natalia was here somewhere, he knew. They both suffered from bipolar disorder, and it had become dangerous for them to interact with normal people. According to Dr. Fisher, Ivan’s other sister, Katerina, had been affected by the constant exposure to her bipolar siblings, leading to _her_ mental breakdown and her stay at the same hospital.

So far, Ivan had had a room to himself. Some people might have been happy about this; Ivan, however, had always had trouble making friends, and he wished the doctors would give him the opportunity to try.

It was Saturday, but Ivan had no one to visit; he had no inclination to see Natalia, and Fisher had forbidden him from seeing his older sister. So, as always, Ivan sat in his room, not really doing anything. He wished there were some sunflowers in his room. That would make it a lot better.

He heard the door open and saw a pretty nurse enter. She smiled kindly.

“Hello, Ivan. I’m Dorothea. I’m the new nurse here. It’s very nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

Ivan shook it. “Hello.”

“So,” Dorothea said, “how would you like a roommate?”

Ivan blinked. Where had this come from? He had never publicly expressed a wish for a roommate. It was as if she had read his mind.

“Well, yes, but…why?”

“We have a patient in another hall who we think could use some company. And Dr. Fisher left a note saying you’ve been having trouble sleeping. We’ve decided to try relocating you to see if you’ll sleep better.”

“What happened to Dr. Fisher?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing bad. He just retired. I assume you haven’t met Dr. Daniels?” When Ivan shook his head, Dorothea nodded. “You’ll see him soon enough. I think you’ll like him.”

And just like that, Dorothea took her patient to his new room.

* * *

When he entered the room, the first thing Ivan saw was the small Chinese man sitting on the top of the tall wooden headboard. Not even on the mattress. His arms were folded over his knees, which were curled up slightly. Ivan couldn’t imagine how he kept his balance.

His new roommate had his brown hair in a ponytail. Instead of the standard-issue hospital gowns that most patients wore, the man had been allowed to keep his own clothes, and today he had chosen to wear them. Russia felt a bit underdressed in his pink gown and scarf.

“Yao, this is Ivan, your new roommate.” Dorothea waited for the man to respond, but he just kept staring at the wall across from him, to the right of the glass wall.

She shrugged and backed out, closing the door behind her. Ivan heard the lock click; still, Yao did not show any sign that he had heard.

 _Is he deaf?_ Ivan wondered. Perhaps he was catatonic, like Katerina. Just as the though formed in his head, Yao turned his head and looked at Ivan.

“Hello,” Ivan said. Yao did not respond, only nodded. He looked tired; there were bags under his eyes, and he seemed to be using as little energy as possible. Ivan also saw that there were quite a few paper plates left over from lunch, many more than were usually given to patients. And yet every scrap of food was gone; the plates were stacked neatly in the corner, waiting to be picked up by a nurse or janitor.

Ivan moved to what he assumed was his bed. Its headboard wasn’t nearly as tall, and although the bed was a wooden one (unlike many at the hospital), it still wasn’t as nice as Yao’s. He must be a special case. To get there, Ivan had to pass Yao’s bed, and Ivan could feel the shorter man’s eyes following him. He sat down on his mattress.

“So…how are you?” Ivan mentally slapped himself for his lame attempt at conversation. Yao must think he was a lunatic; no one in this facility was mentally sound, except perhaps the employees, and even that was a matter of opinion. Who in their right mind wanted to work with people who most definitely weren’t?

To his surprise, Yao answered. “A little hungry. But I’m always hungry. What about you?”

Ivan said, “Well, it certainly has been different. Moving rooms so suddenly and all. And the nurse that died the other day.”

Yao nodded. “She used to be my nurse. I never liked her much. She had too much energy.” He sighed. “Still, it is scary that a patient would kill someone like that. It was just a few rooms down. I could hear it.”

Ivan had been on the other side of the wing, so he had only heard the rumors. He was about to ask for the details, but Yao looked exhausted. Something must really be wrong with him, if talking like that could take such a toll. Ivan wondered what Yao was in for, but felt it would be insensitive to ask.

Apparently, Yao didn’t share the same sentiment. “Why are you here?” he whispered.

“Bipolar disorder.”

“No, I meant why did they move you?”

“Oh.” Ivan shrugged. “Something about my sleep pattern and you needing company.”

Yao’s eyes flickered with some strange emotion; it was gone before Ivan could decipher its meaning.

Then the door opened, and the new doctor stepped into the room.

“Hello, Ivan. I’m Dr. Daniels.” Ivan shook the doctor’s hand and sat back down on the bed; Dr. Daniels dragged the chair over from the corner and sat facing Ivan. He shuffled a few papers and started reading silently from a page. He glanced up every so often, but never for long.

When he finished, he said, “You don’t mind us talking here, do you? I know that some patients prefer their conditions to be kept private.”

Ivan assured Dr. Daniels that he didn’t mind—after all, Yao already knew about his condition.

The new doctor continued, “Usually, I would conduct this interview in my office, but I need to speak to both of you, so it seemed more efficient to come to you. Anyway, Dr. Fisher’s notes once again show his pessimistic tendencies and inadequacies. As with everyone here, he is convinced that there is something else to your condition, but he has no idea what. And he warns that I should never let you near pipes or anything that could be used as a weapon.” The psychiatrist chuckled. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to follow the notes or to ignore them completely.”

Ivan didn’t see what was so funny.

“As for you, Yao…” Dr. Daniels turned around in his seat to address the Chinese man. “You seem to have been completely misdiagnosed. How Dr. Fisher even got a job here is a mystery to me. Your condition is certainly serious, but nowhere near as bad as Dr. Fisher seemed to believe.”

“How so?”

“It’s chronic, not fatal familial. You’d be dead by now if it was fatal familial.”

“Hm. Thank you.”

Dr. Daniels took some time to speak with Ivan before shaking his hand again and leaving the room. It was three minutes before lights out. Thus, by the time Dr. Daniels had reached the end of the hall, all of the lights in the rooms were out.

Except for one.

When the light in his room stayed on, Ivan wondered if perhaps there had been an abnormal power outage. He sat up in his bed, staring at the lights, wondering when they would go out.

“If you want to turn off the light, go ahead.” Yao pointed to a switch on the wall behind Ivan.

“You have a light switch?”

Yao nodded.

“Why? My previous room didn’t have one.”

“The hospital had one specially installed in my room. I usually keep the light on; one can only go so long sitting in the dark, before one starts seeing strange shapes.”

“But doesn’t it make it hard to sleep?” Ivan asked, puzzled.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Yao said sadly, shaking his head. “I never sleep anyway, no matter what I do. Even sleeping pills don’t work.”

Ivan blinked. That meant…

“You have insomnia, da?” he asked. When Yao looked at him strangely, he said, “Da means yes.”

Yao nodded. “Yes. It’s very severe; I haven’t slept as long as I can remember.”

“How long is that?”

Yao hesitated. Finally, he said, “Not very long, actually, but it feels like ages. I can’t remember anything since about a month before I came here. I remember waking up in a bamboo forest, hungry and exhausted, even though it seemed like I had been sleeping. I wandered for a long time, and finally I came to a city. When the police realized how severe my insomnia was, they arranged for me to be sent here.”

“But…if that’s true, how are you still alive? I mean, if you were hungry, and you had been out in the forest so long, and you weren’t sleeping…and anyway, how do you still have any strength?”

“I do not know. I eat lots of food, and I keep exercise to a minimum, but nothing seems to help. The doctors have tried everything. Dr. Fisher was convinced it was fatal familial insomnia, but this new doctor says it’s simply chronic…not that it makes much of a difference. As it is, my condition is pretty abnormal. Most people with insomnia can at least get a little bit of sleep.”

Yao suddenly stared at Ivan. “But I’ve been wondering: why are you here? There are plenty of people who are bipolar outside of hospitals. Is it really that severe?”

Now Ivan hesitated. “I’m not sure. I never thought about it.”

The two men were silent for what seemed like a long moment. Then Ivan turned the lights off and dug under the covers. Yao looked at Ivan’s sleeping form for a while, somewhat jealous. He climbed off the bedpost and sat against his pillow, leaning his head back against the carved wood of the headboard. He closed his eyes, wishing for sleep to come, as he always did. But, as always, Yao spent the night wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yao=China  
> Ivan=Russia  
> Vash=Switzerland  
> Lili=Liechtenstein
> 
> During my research on insomnia, I discovered that, contrary to my prior knowledge, total lack of sleep is not a defining characteristic of insomnia. In fact, it’s mostly about having trouble falling asleep or difficulty going back to sleep. For plot purposes, at least at first, Yao’s condition is abnormal.


	3. Ducks and Maple Cookies

Most people tried to stay clear of the man everyone just called “the Cuban”. No one knew his name; he had actually been sent by the Cuban government because of his severe Fregoli delusion—the guy believed someone was out to get him, and he saw that person in everyone. It had taken some time, but finally the doctors were able to cure him of it—sort of. In the end, he’d just transferred the delusion to another patient: Alfred F. Jones. He literally thought everyone was Alfred in disguise, and it sure didn’t help that nine times out of ten, the Cuban beat up Alfred’s brother, Matthew Williams.

No one knew why the brothers had different last names. One theory was that they were actually half-brothers; others were convinced they had divorced parents, and each child took a different parents name.

Matthew didn’t really care what the theory was; most times he just wished he wasn’t related to Alfred at all. With his brother's overbearing personality and their unfortunate resemblance to one another, the nurses and doctors were constantly mixing them up. Alfred had a binge eating problem, and Dr. Fisher constantly gave him less food than the other patients, to try and lower the caloric intake. Yet Alfred always managed to have a hamburger in his hand--and Matthew found himself receiving the food meant for Alfred. 

Alfred didn’t actually know that the Cuban was out to get him. At the same time, he wasn’t on particularly good terms with the Cuban, either. He simply spent most of his time thinking he was a superhero and/or stuffing his face with whatever junk food he could find or steal.

* * *

 

When Alfred was called in for an interview with his new psychiatrist, he thought nothing of it. He was actually hoping that this Dr. Daniels would have a dish of candy on his desk.

Alfred walked in the door and was immediately disappointed to see the office completely devoid of food. He sat down in the patient’s chair and slouched, sulking slightly.

“Hello, Mr. Jones. It’s nice to meet you,” said the doctor.

“I’m hungry” was all Alfred said.

“Are you really?” Dr. Daniels asked. “Or are you thirsty? Sometimes people feel hungry when they are, in fact, thirsty. Why don’t you have a glass of water?” The doctor left the room and returned with a couple of small paper Dixie cups filled with water from the filter outside his office. He handed both to Alfred before resuming his position behind his desk.

Alfred dutifully drank the water, mumbling, “I’m not thirsty.” He felt somewhat better after the drink, but he still said, “I’m hungry.”

Dr. Daniels frowned. “Would you like some more water?”

Alfred shook his head. “I’m not thirsty. I’m hungry.”

“Perhaps you’re sad? Mad? Stressed? Tired?”

“The only reason for any of those things is that I’m not getting enough to eat!”

“How much do you like celery?”

Alfred blinked. “What?”

“Celery. How much do you like it?”

“Uh…I dunno, not too much.”

“Well, if what you said is true, and you’re not getting enough to eat, I’ll tell the nurses to give you a normal amount of food. However, it will consist mostly of fruits, veggies, rice, and other select foods.”

“Wait, you’re putting me on a diet? That’s so uncool!” Alfred whined.

Dr. Daniels looked directly at Alfred in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. “Let’s be frank here, Alfred. You’re gaining weight. And what you’ve been eating is horrible for your health. Millions of Americans eat like this, except for one thing—you have possibly the most severe case of binge eating I have ever seen. I'm not even sure it can be called binge eating. You’re always hungry, you eat nothing but junk food, drink nothing but soda, and you won’t even touch the salad that the nurses have been giving you. That’s good food, Alfred. And I know that you’ve been stealing from your brother Matthew.”

Alfred grinned sheepishly.

“Not a very heroic thing to do. I know you like to think that you’re Superman, but no hero would ever steal food from his own siblings.”

Now Alfred felt just plain horrible. Dr. Daniels was right, of course. He wasn’t a hero when he stole food.

“And I also know that you have friends outside the hospital bring you soda and hamburgers. One of the nurses said you were talking to a man in a cloak you called 'Tony'. I would recommend you stop accepting food from him, or else we’ll be forced to move you to a different cell AND ban this Tony from the premises. He’s not doing you any favors by fueling your disorder.”

Alfred scowled. Tony was a good friend, and he certainly didn’t want to get him in trouble.

“Of course, a diet isn’t going to solve the problem,” Dr. Daniels continued. “We’ll try some CBT as well, and see how that goes. You may go now, Alfred.” Dr. Daniels waved a hand towards the door, indicating that the interview was over. Alfred left his seat and made to exit the room.

“Oh, one more thing, Alfred.” Alfred turned around. Dr. Daniels was smiling at him. “I’m having a picnic lunch this Saturday for all of you. I’ll be ordering all the lunches personally to make sure everyone has the right meal for their diet. I hope I’ll see you there.”

* * *

Alfred stared at his dinner. It was larger than it had been for a while, but it was made up of an apple, a large cabbage-and-cilantro salad topped with carrots and toasted sesame seeds, and a ham panini. No melted cheese, no salad dressing, nothing to drink other than water. It had to be the most depressing meal Alfred had ever seen, but it was food.

To his great surprise, the panini was actually pretty good, and Alfred found himself loath to ask for cheese on his next one. The cilantro tasted just right when combined with the cabbage. When only the apple was left, and Alfred found himself wishing for dessert, he bit into the apple, only to find it to be the sweetest apple he had ever tasted. And soon after finishing it, Alfred found that he didn’t particularly want dessert, after all.

About half an hour after his meal, Dr. Daniels visited Alfred in his cell.

“What did you think of dinner?”

Alfred smiled. “It was good. Do you think I could have more sandwiches next time?”

The comment made Dr. Daniels laugh for some reason. “No, I think one is enough for now. Would you like to know why I picked what I did?” Before Alfred could answer, Dr. Daniels went on to say, “Apples are proven to be a satisfying substitute for dessert. The salad is a personal favorite of mine. And you require protein, of course, so providing meat is a necessity.”

“It was good. But—“

“What’s wrong, Alfred?”

Alfred hesitated. “Is my dinner always going to be so…green?”

Dr. Daniels smiled. “Don’t worry, your diet isn’t that restricting. Tomorrow I was thinking hummus and pita chips for lunch, and some salmon for dinner; it’s good for the brain, you know.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “Salmon? I freakin’ love salmon!”

“I thought you would.”

* * *

A nurse came for Ivan around 2:00pm. Yao was staring off into space, conserving energy, so Ivan simply nodded goodbye and followed the nurse. They wound through passageways, leaving the mental ward, until they reached a bright pink door. The nurse ushered him through and entered after, closing the door behind her. 

Behind the door was a large blue-and-green-striped room. There were many occupants, and lots beds lined up along the walls. Some occupants were male, others female.

None of them moved. These were the catatonic patients.

Ivan scanned the room, looking for one woman in particular. When he saw her, he began to wind his way around the other patients.

He stopped by a bed, on which a short-haired woman with an unusually large chest was resting. Her eyes were closed. She obviously hadn’t moved from this position since her arrival. It pained Ivan to see her hooked up to so many machines, but he couldn't suppress a flicker of elation.

For the first time since he had been locked up, the doctors were letting him see his older sister.

Ivan glanced at the patient to his right—a woman with long brown hair and green eyes. She had a small smile on her face, but she, too, was unmoving.

“This place needs some remodeling.”

Dr. Daniels stood behind Ivan, calmly observing the patients. “To group them all in the same room…well, it may be easier on the nurses, but I can’t imagine how it would feel to wake up from this state and find oneself surrounded by this lot.”

Ivan felt a tingle along the back of his neck. It occurred to him how creepy it was to be among all these motionless people, when he himself was moving freely, and Dr. Daniels was speaking as if all these people weren’t even here…which, in a way, they weren’t.

Ivan reached out a hand to rest against his sister’s free one. She didn’t respond in any way.

“How long will it be before she comes back, doctor?” he asked, sounding like a little kid.

“I don’t know, but I’ll do my best.”

* * *

The lights went out in the hallway and adjacent rooms. As usual, the lights stayed on in the room shared by Yao and Ivan, and remained that way for a while. When Ivan finally turned out the lights, he was still far from sleep. 

Although he knew Yao would rather save energy, Ivan really needed to talk about his sister. It was a leap of faith; to explain about Katerina, Ivan would have to reveal his own hand in causing his sister’s condition.

“Yao?”

“Mm?”

“Um…can I tell you something?”

“Mm.”

Ivan fidgeted. He really wanted to talk about his sister, but he couldn’t think of how to break into the topic.

“My sister is catatonic. They let me see her for the first time today.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

Ivan nodded, forgetting that Yao couldn’t see him. He closed his eyes to make it easier to say the words. “My sister raised me and Natalia—my younger sister—by herself. Growing up, I was bullied a lot, and Natalia was always clinging to me—she was bipolar from the start—and eventually I just snapped. Kids were scared of me, teachers wouldn’t cross me. At home I was just as bad. Natalia and I took our frustrations out on Katerina. We didn’t mean to. But I got violent at the slightest implication, and Natalia was…scary when it came to me. If Katerina tried to stand up for me, Natalia got angry and threatened her. If she didn’t stand up for me, I would get angry. I didn’t want to cause her harm, but I was too wrapped up in my own emotions.

“We were always poor. Katerina provided for us before herself. She never deserved it. She was the only sane one in the family, but in the end it was too much for her. She broke down. She started shaking uncontrollably, and babbling, and screaming when we got near her. Some neighbors called the police and had us arrested. Katerina was taken to the hospital right away. Dr. Fisher said they had to strap her down, and finally she just lapsed into her present state.”

Ivan curled onto his side, facing the blank wall. “It’s horrible, da? You probably want me out of here as soon as possible. But…I really want Katerina to be okay. I want to be able to apologize to her, and show her I’ve changed…”

Again there was silence. Ivan began to drift off to sleep.

“Maybe she just needs time.”

Ivan heard the words as if they were coming from the end of a tunnel. Sleep overtook him, and he left his roommate in the dark.

* * *

Soon after Dr. Daniels took over, he instated a free period in the mental hospital each afternoon; each patient could choose from a list of activities to participate in outside. Things like cooking, knitting, and woodworking were specifically restricted to some of the saner patients, but sports and other activities were generally open to anyone. Very few patients chose not to partake in the activities. 

Matthew Williams drifted between activities each week, sometimes even switching activities during the day. Although this was theoretically forbidden, it wasn’t strictly enforced; certainly, no one noticed the shy Canadian and his stuffed polar bear.

Today, Matthew had decided to try cooking. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have clearance; no one noticed him. He could just work at an open kitchen unit and mind his own business.

Or so he thought.

“Hey! Jones!”

Turning around, Matthew was dismayed to see the Cuban bearing down on him. He hugged his polar bear to his chest and tried to be invisible. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.

“I-I’m not…”

“You’re gonna wish you had never been born when I’m through with you!” The Cuban pounded a fist into his palm. Matthew already wished he’d never been born—or better yet, Alfred. Why was it that his brother could cause trouble for him when he wasn’t even in the room?

“Hey, Cuban dude, whatcha doin’?”

 _Speak of the devil,_ Matthew thought as his brother came bouncing up behind the Cuban. The Cuban narrowed his eyes at Alfred, then looked back at Matthew, thrown off by the sudden appearance of the real Alfred Jones. Reaching a decision, he turned around to punch Alfred in the stomach. Alfred, however, was already out of reach, bouncing around the rec room, looking for something to do. _He probably forgot to sign up for something again_ , Matthew thought. Part of him hated his brother for being careless and causing trouble for everyone; the other part was relieved that Alfred had appeared right when he needed him. Matthew was safe from the Cuban—for now.

Sighing, Matthew Williams resumed his quest for an open stovetop. Many people bumped into him; it was part of his condition.

He first noticed it when he turned seven, and his mother forgot to wake him up for his birthday party. When he finally woke up and asked them why, she said that she hadn’t seen him in bed, and assumed he was out playing with friends. Ever since, he had grown steadily more invisible as he grew older, until now, at 20, he spent a majority of his time forgotten, except for maybe a few hours a week. It wasn’t like the nurses forgot his meals; it was more along the lines of, Matthew doesn’t seem to be here right now, so I’ll just leave this here and hopefully he’ll find his way back. It didn’t matter that he could be right behind them. Even when they bumped into him, it was rare that they noticed he was there.

And Alfred had grown more and more visible, if only because he was so rambunctious. Although he had no envy of his older brother’s condition and attitude, Matthew had to admit that he was jealous of the amount of attention Alfred received. Sometimes it felt like Alfred absorbed all of Matthew’s attention and directed it at himself.

Matthew shook himself and cracked an egg into a bowl of flour and butter. Having found an open countertop, away from potential obstacles, he was busying himself with making cookies, though what kind he wasn’t sure. On a whim, he grabbed a bottle of maple syrup sitting on the counter and poured a good amount in. Maple syrup always made him feel better.

As he was spooning dollops of batter onto a cookie sheet, he was jostled from behind by a patient going about his business. The dollop of batter fell haphazardly and splattered into one of the perfect cookies. With a sigh, Matthew attempted to scoop the batter back into shape.

“Pardon me, I did not see you there.” A refined hand rested on Matthew’s shoulder. He squeaked in surprise and whipped around. Embarrassed by his behavior, he grabbed his polar bear from the counter and hugged it to his face while he took in the appearance of the person who had bumped him.

The man seemed to be in his early twenties, with long blond hair and a slight beard. He wore a French chef’s uniform—could it be called a uniform?—and smelled like expensive cologne.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could I use this counter next to you? It would appear they are letting that idiot Arthur Kirkland use the stove, and his cooking always turns out horrible.” The Frenchman scoffed and began to set his things down without waiting for an answer. “What are you making?” he asked. “It does not look like lemon meringue.”

Matthew glanced at the man’s bowl. Its contents definitely did not include maple syrup.

“Is that what everyone is making today?”

The man nodded. “ _Oui_. But you do not even have the ingredients! What madness is this?”

Matthew resumed his task. “Oh, the instructor never notices me. I just sort of do whatever I want.”

The man raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Well, we will have to see how this ‘whatever’ tastes. Who are you, by the way? I have not seen you around before.”

“That’s to be expected. No one ever seems to notice me. It’s why I’m here.” Matthew had filled a cookie sheet with batter; he set it aside and began to fill a second one. “I’m virtually invisible 90% of the time. It was too hard for me to function out in the real world—people kept narrowly missing me whenever I crossed the street, or cutting in front of me in line. I actually ended up here because of a hit-and-run. It took hours for the doctors to remember I was there. Luckily, it was just a few broken bones.”

“ _Mon dieu_! That is horrible! But,” the Frenchman said, pointing his mixing spoon at Matthew, “you still have not answered my question.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Matthew. And you are?”

The man beamed. “I am Francis Bonnefoy, chef, artist, and lover. And I am here because of a most noble and rare condition.” With a flourish of his spoon (which sent meringue flying across the room), he said, “Anatidaephobia!”

Matthew blinked. “What was that?”

“It is the fear that somewhere, a duck is watching you.”

“I thought that was a fictional phobia.”

“ _Non_! It is quite real! And when I catch that duck and cook him into a magnificent meal, my fear will finally be erased!”

 _Of course. The one person in this entire cooking class who notices me, and he’s a complete nutjob_.

Having used up the batter, Matthew popped the trays into the oven and began mixing a filling for the cookies. Maple syrup was used liberally.

As the cookies were finishing, an explosion was heard across the room. Francis sighed. “Now you see why I moved."

Matthew couldn’t blame him. Arthur Kirkland was covered in black, with smoke still curling up from the mixing bowl. How the man had managed to make uncooked meringue explode, Matthew wasn't going to venture a guess.

The timer for his cookies dinged, and Matthew pulled the trays out. He grabbed a butter knife and began spreading a good amount of maple syrup cream onto each cookie, then laying a second cookie on top. When he was done, he bit into one and smiled blissfully.

“May I try one, _mon ami_?” Francis’s hand was hovering over the cookie sheet. Matthew nodded.

Francis took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise. “ _C’est merveilleux_! I never thought maple syrup could taste so _délicieux_ when made into a cookie!”

Matthew blushed and ducked his head. “Thank you.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it is good that I bumped into you, no? Or I would never have eaten such an amazing cookie!”

Matthew didn’t mind. Francis may be a bit crazy, but he was Matthew’s first friend at the mental hospital. Squeezing his polar bear, Matthew took another cookie. He hadn’t had a chance to share his cookies like this since before his seventh birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Anatidaephobia is not a real phobia. It is a made-up fear devised by author Gary Larson (the inventor of another phobia, Luposlipaphobia, which is the fear of being chased by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor).
> 
> Matthew=Canada  
> Francis=France  
> Arthur=England  
> Alfred=America  
> Ivan=Russia  
> Natalia=Belarus  
> Katarina=Ukraine  
> Yao=China
> 
> Just FYI—Dr. Fisher’s method of treating binge-eating disorder is NOT the correct way to go about it. AT ALL. He’s truly an incompetent buffoon. 
> 
> Dr. Fisher used to be Dr. Williams, but I realized—belatedly—that this complicated things. Speaking of Williams, Matthew’s condition isn’t really a mental thing, but they put him in the mental ward because they thought that having a clear view of him through the glass wall might remind them of his presence. It didn’t work.
> 
> Also, I don’t think I explained Fregoli’s delusion well in the story, so here’s an excerpt from the Wikipedia page:
> 
> “The Fregoli delusion, or the delusion of doubles, is a rare disorder in which a person holds a delusional belief that different people are in fact a single person who changes appearance or is in disguise.”
> 
> CBT stands for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
> 
> The specific type of catatonia that Katerina has is called a stupor. It’s basically textbook catatonia.


	4. Awkward First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited as of August 1, 2014

Feliks was awoken early in the morning by the sound of screaming. Covering his ears, he flipped onto his side and waited for the lights to come on as the nurses realized what was happening.

Right on cue. The lights went up, revealing the rigid form of Feliks’ roommate, Toris, screaming his head off and clawing at the sheets.

Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Feliks swung himself out of bed and slapped Toris across the face, rudely jolting him out of his unrestful slumber. Toris slumped back in bed, panting and sweating.

“Like, thanks a lot! God! I was trying to sleep, Toris!” Feliks rested a hand on his hip and cocked an eyebrow. “What the heck was that?”

Toris looked at Feliks with haunted eyes, rubbing at his sore cheek. Feliks’ expression changed from irritated to concerned. His hand slid off his hip.

“You had another nightmare?”

Toris nodded.

“I thought that was like, getting better!”

“I guess not,” Toris said. He hunched up into a ball and hugged his knees to his chest. When Feliks sat on the bed, he buried his face.

“Was it the same one?” Feliks asked.

“No,” came the muffled response. “This one was worse. Thanks for waking me up.”

Feliks sighed. What was taking the nurses so long? Toris needed a psychiatrist now, or he was going to fixate on this dream.

“So, like, did you hear about the totally awesome new fashion magazines the hospital got? I’m totally going to have to read those!”

Toris glanced up. “Feliks, those are a week old. If you would just go out during free time, you wouldn’t have to wait to hear the news second-hand. And I was the one who told you about them.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally forgot. But I am _so_ not going out there! There are people out there!”

“Feliks, I’m a person.”

“Yeah, but not really.”

“Thanks,” Toris mumbled.

“You’re different. You aren’t scary."

The door opened. A couple of nurses came in, accompanied by a psychiatrist Feliks had never seen before. Abandoning his position on Toris’s bed, he fled to the farthest corner of the room and cowered there.

One of the nurses started rubbing Toris’s back to calm him down—he was still sweating profusely—but the doctor was intrigued by Feliks’s behavior.

“Who’s that?” he asked the second nurse.

“That’s Feliks Łukasiewicz.”

The doctor nodded. “Ah, the sociophobe."

He turned his attention away from Feliks and began to speak soothingly to Toris. It took the three professionals an hour to fully calm him down.

As the nurses left, the psychiatrist remained sitting in a chair he had pulled up from a corner of the room. He pivoted to face Feliks.

“I know this is uncomfortable for you, Feliks, and I’m sorry. But I have to say, you did a good job keeping him calm.” The man gestured at Toris, who was fast asleep again. “It’s remarkable how much you were able to accomplish in such a short time.”

Feliks did not speak.

The man sighed. “I’ll leave now, if that makes you feel better. Good night, Feliks.”

With that, the doctor swept out of the room and closed the door. The lights went out, and Feliks was left in the dark. He stood up and moved towards the bed, only to bump into something and fall face first onto his mattress. The doctor had forgotten to replace the chair.

“Like, ow!”

* * *

Alfred’s breakfast had been good. Nothing remarkable; in fact, it was probably one of the lamer meals he had received since his meeting with Dr. Daniels. Still, at least it wasn’t raisin bran. 

It struck Alfred as odd that, on the day he was given a lame breakfast, Dr. Daniels came in asking for a favor.

“It’s about one of our female patients. This may be a long shot, but…” he shook his head. “Would you come with me, Alfred?”

Alfred shrugged in assent and followed Dr. Daniels. As they walked, Dr. Daniels filled Alfred in on the situation.

“She suffers from tokophobia—“

“She’s afraid of talking?”

“Not talkophobia, _to_ kophobia. It’s an intense fear of being pregnant or giving birth. Unfortunately, she _is_ pregnant, and as you can imagine it’s not good for her health OR the baby.”

Alfred frowned. “If she’s so afraid of being pregnant, how did some guy get her that way?”

“It’s possible it wasn’t a preexisting condition, or that she didn’t realize she had it until it was too late. Either way, it requires nurses to remain by her side quite frequently, but what with all the extra patients Dorothea has taken on lately, we’re going to have to change that.” 

“And you think I’m going to be able to help? Why me?”

Dr. Daniels was quiet for a long time. Alfred began to feel apprehensive.

“Suffice to say, I have a good feeling about this. I would say ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor’, but I doubt that would do anything to put you at ease.”

They stopped outside a wooden door. Dr. Daniels knocked and entered the room, motioning for Alfred to follow. Glancing about, Alfred noticed that there were more differences between his room and this one than just the door and lack of glass paneling; the walls were covered in a bamboo-like mat, and those were covered with an Asian-style wallpaper, like one big painting turned into a full-scale decoration. The floor was covered in reed mats, and there were large cushions on the floor. It was as if a traditional Japanese room was sitting in the middle of the mental hospital.

“How’s Lien?” the doctor asked. Alfred peeked over his shoulder at the small Asian woman curled up against Dorothea, eyes closed. The nurse was petting her hair as if she was a cat, but it seemed to relax the woman. She was noticeably pregnant, perhaps six months in. When the woman opened her eyes and stared at him, Alfred felt inexplicably nervous.

“She’s doing much better,” Dorothea said. She tried to stand up, but Lien grabbed her uniform and tugged hard, whimpering. Dorothea sat down again.

The doctor approached Lien and laid a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes darted around the room, settling on Dr. Daniels.

“Lien, I’d like you to meet Alfred.” He gestured to Alfred to come closer. Alfred closed the door and slowly inched his way over, slightly embarrassed at seeing a woman so helpless. Based on the defiant way Lien lifted her chin, he could tell she was usually a strong individual.

Lien’s gaze remained fixed on him. Her expression was unreadable. It was slightly unnerving.

“Alfred is going to be helping us take care of you. If Dorothea or your nurses are busy, Alfred will sit with you. Is that okay?”

Lien’s eyes widened. She shook her head vehemently. Alfred felt a little hurt.

“Lien,” Dr. Daniels said.

“...Fat.”

Alfred colored slightly. If  there was anything he didn’t want to hear from a girl, it was a remark about his weight.

“Lien!” Dorothea exclaimed. “That was uncalled for!”

“I’m fat!” Lien cried. “I’m deformed! And he’s a boy!”

“I’m a boy, too,” Dr. Daniels huffed. “Lien, he’s not going to hurt you.” The psychiatrist shot Alfred a glance, as if to say, _Help me out here!_

“You’re not deformed,” Alfred mumbled. Lien ignored him. She was scratching at her face, nails digging into her skin until she bled, leaving claw marks. Dorothea grasped at Lien’s hands in vain; Dr. Daniels backed up, unsure whether he should try to stop Lien or let the trained nurse deal with it.

“Please be reasonable, Lien!” Dorothea cried. To Alfred, she said, “Help me calm her down!”

With no other plan, Alfred ran around and grabbed Lien’s arms from behind, yanking them back until she could no longer reach her face. She gave an initial squeak of pain, but she stopped struggling for fear of breaking her arms. In fact, she held unnaturally still.

Dorothea brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and examined a scratch left over from the brief scuffle. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred merely nodded. He hoped it would be safe to let go soon; manhandling women wasn't very heroic.

Dr. Daniels leaned down to Lien’s eye level. “You have to stop doing this, Lien. You’re only hurting yourself. You’re going to be okay if you just calm down.” He straightened up. “Dorothea, would you get a doctor from the medical wing to examine her wounds? I'll stay here with Alfred and Lien.

“Of course, sir.” Dorothea left the room.

The door shut with an audible click. An awkward silence followed.

“So…do you like hamburgers?” Alfred asked.

No reply. Lien squirmed a bit but said nothing.

“Okay…you got any siblings?”

A sob emerged from the woman, so faint it might have been a cough. Surprised, Alfred leaned down slightly until he was peeking around at Lien’s face. It was drenched in tears; her yellow patients’ smock was soaking wet. Misinterpreting them as tears of pain, Alfred hastily let go of her arms and scooted around to face her directly.

It was a mistake. Lien immediately began to claw at her face again. Dr. Daniels rushed over, and he and Alfred each grabbed one of Lien's wrists, easily overpowering the smaller woman and holding her hands out to the sides, down by her waist. She struggled for a bit, trying to bite them, but they kept out of reach.

“Let me go!”

“What are you trying to do?” Alfred yelled. “Hurting yourself isn’t going to make you any less pregnant! You just have to deal with it and get it over with!”

“Like you would know!” Lien spat. “You’re both boys; you don’t know anything about pregnancy!”

“Maybe you’re right, but I know that mothers are supposed to love their child! You have a life in you! Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Lien was shaking. The tears came more thickly. “Of course it means something! It means I have some parasite in my stomach, taking nourishment from me, changing my body! It’s an abomination!”

Alfred was shocked. He had never heard anyone talk about a baby like that. “But everyone starts out like that. Even you!”

Lien shook her head. “That was my mother’s decision, but I don’t want to have something like this growing inside me!”

“Then why didn’t you abort it in the early stages?”

“It’s not that easy! My family doesn’t believe in abortion. I would have aborted if I could, but my mother wouldn’t let me! She would have disowned me!”

Struck by the realization that Lien’s life situation was much more complex than he had first thought, Alfred could think of nothing more to say. He just sat there, gripping her wrist, afraid to let go lest she harm herself, but keenly aware that she must see his actions as an assault. He looked to Dr. Daniels for answers.

Instead of acknowledging Alfred, the psychiatrist asked Lien, “What exactly is it that you’re afraid of? Pain? Complications?”

Lien shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “So many things…death, the pain, the blood…and the baby…I don’t want the baby…I don’t want to see the little demon that disfigures my body…I can feel it moving sometimes, and it scares me to no end—AAAAAIIIIEE!” She jumped. “It kicked!” She started trembling; Alfred could feel her pulse accelerate as her breathing became labored.

On instinct, he let go of her wrist and moved his hands to her shoulders, slowly, so she wouldn’t be caught off guard. He rubbed her back hesitantly but steadily. “Hey, it’s okay. You can get through this, you know? Just…be sure to breathe, okay?”

He kept repeating those words, over and over, rubbing her back until she shrugged him off. Even then, he kept speaking, until Lien took a deep breath and slumped backwards against the bed, exhausted. Dr. Daniels eventually released her other wrist and began to dab at the scratches on Lien's face with a handkerchief-- _seriously, who carries a handkerchief in this day and age?_ Alfred thought.

The light sound of a doorknob turning alerted them to the presence of Dorothea and a female doctor. The nurse motioned for the men to leave the room.

"So," Dorothea asked, after shutting the door, "how did it go?"

Alfred hung his head. "I think she hates me."

"Don't put yourself down like that, Alfred," the doctor said, resting a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I wasn't expecting Lien to like you right off the bat. She's going through a tough time, you know."

At that moment, the female doctor emerged from Lien’s room and cleared her throat. “I’ve cleaned and bandaged the wounds where appropriate. She’ll need to be careful or she risks the chance of infection. I’ll send a nurse down with some ointment; have the patient apply it every morning. Also, I would recommend that she avoid sleeping on her side as much as possible, to avoid extra pain.”

Dorothea frowned at the doctor. “She’s pregnant, Molly! You should know how uncomfortable it is for a pregnant woman to sleep on her back! You have two children at home!”

The doctor smiled sheepishly. “Right as usual, Thea. We’re lucky to have you here.” The doctor waved and took off down the corridor.

“I thought you were a new nurse?” Alfred inquired.

Dorothea laughed. “Oh, I know Molly from school. We used to compete for top of the class. She nearly always beat me.”

A series of beeps emanated from a pocket in the nurse’s uniform. Dorothea pulled out a watch and checked the time.

“It would appear I’m needed elsewhere, Alfred. I’ll just leave you here with Dr. Daniels. See you!"

Alfred waved to the departing nurse, then turned back to Dr. Daniels. "What was this all about, anyway? How am I supposed to help some random chick?"

"Why don't we talk about this in my office?"

* * *

 

"I have something of a hypothesis," Dr. Daniels said, sitting in his comfortable desk chair. "Mutual healing, one might call it. I believe that human interaction is extremely therapeutic, in most cases. There are exceptions, of course, notably sociophobia. Try as we might, doctors and nurses can't always understand exactly what a patient is going through; fellow patients, however, may be able to connect with one another. "

Alfred nodded, not fully understanding.

"Lien is incredibly introverted, even more so now that she is pregnant. She never participates in the free time activities, or speaks with other patients."

"So...you're forcing her to have friends?"

This made Dr. Daniels pause. "One might see it as such. I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to make friends."

"But why me?" Alfred asked. "Why not...oh, I don't know, Mattie? He's a nice guy!"

"This isn't like you, Alfred," Dr. Daniels said with a smile. "I thought you were a hero? Don't heroes usually save damsels in distress?"

"Yeah, but don't they usually ask to be saved? I think Lien would rather me just stay away."

"We'll just have to see, won't we?"

* * *

“Hey, you!" 

Matthew froze. He was wandering the halls at random, his door having been left open by a nurse who obviously thought he was somewhere else. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be out, but he saw no harm in stretching his legs. It wasn’t like he was a danger to anyone.

Expecting a guard, Matthew turned around. What he saw was a hundred times worse: the Cuban was bearing down on him. Matthew whimpered. He had no idea what the Cuban was doing out, but it couldn’t be good.

Frozen in terror, Matthew had no choice but to wait for the Cuban to reach him. The man was holding a hand behind his back, no doubt concealing a weapon or a balled-up fist. As the arm began to move, Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.

Nothing came. Matthew hesitantly opened one eye, afraid that it might provoke the Cuban. Instead, he found a carton of strawberry ice cream inches away from his nose.

“I wanted to say sorry for almost beating you up yesterday. I thought you were Jones, since you look a lot like him.” The Cuban gestured at Matthew to take the ice cream.

Stunned, Matthew did so. He loved ice cream, although there was no way for the Cuban to know that. He smiled. “Thank you, um…”

“Manuel,” the Cuban said.

“Thank you, Mr. Manuel.”

The Cuban nodded and walked off in the opposite direction. As he rounded the corner, a male nurse rushed past Matthew. Pacing back to his room, the shy young man opened the ice cream container. It was one of those cartons that came with a plastic spoon attached to the inside of the lid.

 _Maybe he’s not so bad after all,_ Matthew thought as he swallowed some of the frozen treat.

Not counting Alfred, two people had noticed him in two days. For a nearly invisible boy, it was like having the whole world know his name.

* * *

“Dr. Daniels!” 

The psychiatrist looked up at the male nurse who had just burst into his office. “What’s the matter, Samuel?”

“It’s…it's the catatonic ward…one of the patients…”

Dr. Daniels stood up. “I’ll be right there. Who is it?”

“Elizaveta Hedervary. She’s awake.”

* * *

When Dr. Daniels arrived in the catatonic ward, there was a group of nurses huddled around Elizaveta’s bed. The woman seemed disconcerted; when she saw the doctor, she asked, “What’s going on?” 

“Hi, Elizaveta. I’m Dr. Daniels. Do you know where you are?”

She nodded. “The catatonic ward of the mental hospital. Was I catatonic?”

“Yes. How much do you remember?”

“Nothing concrete. What happened?”

“You’re safe now, Elizaveta, and that’s all that matters.”

A few of the nurses exchanged glances. Dr. Daniels hoped they wouldn’t correct him. _We don’t know what happened_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Dorothea was originally named Rosabella. What a stupid name. 
> 
> I’ve probably failed at writing Vietnam here. I’m sorry. There’s a limit to how accurate one can be while still keeping the plot interesting and moving forward.
> 
> Matthew=Canada  
> Alfred=America  
> Manuel=Cuba  
> Lien=Vietnam  
> Feliks=Poland  
> Toris=Lithuania  
> Elizaveta=Hungary
> 
> I’ll be the first to admit that Japan would probably fit under sociophobia better than Poland, but given how socially awkward Poland is…well, I thought I’d elaborate a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> These author’s notes are probably going to include little facts or something every time, because I find psychiatry fascinating and because I like spreading knowledge.
> 
> The recently-retired Dr. Fisher was named after the first president of the American Eugenics Society, because Dr. Fisher is a dick and eugenics is awful. Fun fact: Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt, and a lot of birth-control advocates supported eugenics. It was a fad at the time, I think. Of course, they could’ve gone one step further, like Charles Lindbergh, and supported Hitler, but thank goodness they didn’t. 
> 
> The nurse, Dorothea Osmond, gets her first name from Dorothea Dix, who advocated for “moral treatment” in American mental hospitals—or, as they were at the time, prisons. Trust me, treatment for anything termed “mental illness” back then was cruel. 
> 
> I don’t remember why I chose Daniels or Osmond, but I can’t find a suitable substitute for the former and I like the latter a lot.
> 
> If I get things wrong, I’d appreciate a kind correction. No matter how much research I do, I’m bound to screw up, and I don’t want to mischaracterize or enforce stereotypes!
> 
> A note about Arthur's condition:  
> A person is only able to be diagnosed with psychosis if every other possible diagnosis can be ruled out. There are lots of types of psychosis and many causes; while the cause of Arthur’s psychosis will remain unrevealed (at least for the time being), the type of psychosis he has is called chronic hallucinatory psychosis. Not much is known for certain, but it seems it is believed to be the first stage of full-blown psychosis.
> 
> Arthur--Psychosis  
> Vash--Paranoia, Seperation Anxiety, and possible schizophrenia. In addition, he's got a heart condition.


End file.
